


Reconnaissance

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Post-Episode: s11e05 Ghouli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:24:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: Post-ep of sorts for Ghouli. Mulder runs into William again, under unlikely circumstances, and overdue conversations ensue.





	Reconnaissance

The first time Mulder realizes he’s being followed is when he’s standing in the frozen foods section trying to decide what kind of ice cream to buy. If Scully were here, she’d probably opt for a sherbet or frozen yogurt blend instead, or maybe something like vanilla, but he has his hand on a half gallon of rocky road when he catches the slightest hint of movement to his right. The face of an older Asian man peeks out from around the end of the aisle, but before Mulder can process the fact the man had been watching him, he quickly darts away.

It takes little more than a second--the time it takes to put the ice cream into the cart--for the realization to click into place. The Pick-Up Artist. He’s being followed by his son, albeit in as non-traditional of a way as possible. His heart beats quickly, but he takes a deep breath and knows he has to remain calm. The last time he saw him, he looked about the same, from the gas station window as he eyed Scully talking to him before he drove away. He feels guilty for preferring the black and white image of his son’s face, though he’ll take whatever version of William he can get.

He wheels the cart to the next aisle, gripping the handle tightly with both hands. William isn’t there. Mulder shakes his head, thinking maybe he’s imagining things. It’s been weeks and though he knew it was pointless, he’d hoped their son would return. To think that he was out on his own in the world, shuffling from place to place, always looking over his shoulder, was heartbreaking. With no way to contact him, their only hope had been that he’d reach out. And now he is, Mulder thinks, gripping a can of italian wedding soup, cursing the fact Scully isn’t here to see this. She’d offered to come along for the weekly shopping trip, but the flu that had been dogging the country for months had attacked her hard, and so she’d given him a list before retreating to their bedroom and taking a nap. 

A woman rolls her cart past him, cooing something at the toddler sitting inside. The little boy smiles at him, waving, and he shyly raises a hand to say hello back. When he looks up, William is watching from the end of the aisle, but he quickly disappears just as their eyes meet. Not William, Mulder reminds himself, not even Jackson either, because he doesn’t even know what his son calls himself now. Does he have a job? Does he have friends? Is he being safe? The questions rattle inside of his brain while his heart beats like a kick drum inside of his chest, and he forgets the rest of the list, deciding to start tailing the man instead. He figures Scully will forgive him when he explains why. 

A few aisles over, near dried pasta and rice, he sees William pretending to read the back of a macaroni box. He’s got his arm looped through the handles of a basket, but even from a distance, Mulder can see there’s not much inside. He wonders where he’s staying and if he has any way of cooking what he wants to eat. Mulder opens his mouth, for the first time realizing how dry it’s become, but before he can speak an elderly woman drops a jar of pasta sauce, causing tomatoes and glass to spill everywhere. “Oh, I’m so clumsy,” she says, turning to apologize to a store clerk that had been stocking items next to her.

“It’s okay,” the employee says, before pulling a walkie-talkie from his hip. “Clean up on aisle four.”

Mulder curses himself for getting distracted, because when he breaks his focus away, WIlliam is gone.

He decides to take his time, strolling leisurely past candy and chips and bread, and he finds himself in the produce section. Scully had mentioned picking up ingredients for a salad, so figures he might as well get his shopping done while waiting for his son to find him. It doesn’t take long. He’s trying to remember what kind of avocado she likes when he feels the presence of someone standing behind him. A quick glance at a their reflections on a produce scale hanging next to him confirms Mulder’s suspicions. If he turns too fast or says too much he could scare him off, so he presses on an avocado, testing it for soft spots, and clears his throat. “An important key to following someone is making sure your subject doesn’t know they’re being followed.”

In the reflection on the scale, Mulder sees William startle, as if he realizes he’s been made. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he continues, trying to remind himself that he’s talking to a teenager and not a man who from the outside appears to be his age. The idea he could be giving his son advice about how to hide in plain sight feels absurd, especially considering his apparent abilities. He wishes this could be like when he and Scully watched him on the security footage, where he’d look out the window and picture one man but stare at the screen and see William, but it’s not, and so he turns to face him, praying that doing so won’t make him run. 

William bows his head, knowing he’s been caught, and kicks a scuffed tennis shoe against the linoleum floor. It’s a move that for a teenage boy would seem typical, a sign of acknowledging defeat or maybe embarrassment, but from the outside he looks like a man in his fifties. “This was the only safe way. I had hoped you’d remember. I know this isn’t the face you want, but it works. For now.”

“I remember,” Mulder says, carefully setting the avocado down before it bruises too hard. He remembers so much, from the way William’s cherubic face stared up at him as he held him all those years ago to the pale face peeking out of the body bag to the grainy image wishing he could know his mother better, Mulder remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” William says, struggling for words. “I didn’t mean to scare either of you. I did what I had to do to make sure everyone else I cared about was safe.”

“But you’re back here in Virginia and you’re following me,” Mulder said, his voice desperate as he reaches out and clutches his arm. It’s surreal, touching his son but not really, not in the way he wants to. His breath hitches in his chest, and he wants so badly to envelope the younger man in a hug and tell him everything is going to be okay, all the while hoping against hope that it won’t be a lie. But they’re in public, he reminds himself, and the very last thing he wants to do is scare him off. “Did something happen? Scully hasn’t said anything, but did you--” he clears his throat and lowers his voice before continuing. “Did you get another vision?”

“No,” William replies, breath growing rapid. He darts his eyes left and right, blinking tightly against the fluorescent lights. “I came because I felt...something. I’m not sure why. Something was drawing me back here, I can’t name it because I don’t know what it is. But I think...I think this was a mistake.”

Before Mulder can react, William pulls away, walking briskly towards the exit. He feels a panic bubbling inside at the thought that the moment is over before he had a chance to really appreciate it, to have a conversation with his son before he slips through his fingers yet again. “It’s not a mistake. The comment I made about following me, I just meant that I want you to be safe. I need you to be careful.”

“Why?” William asks, not bothering to hide the bitter tone of his voice. “I mean, I guess I get it. But the reality is that you don’t know anything about me.”

It’s like a knife wound to the chest, a blade of truth so accurate and swift that he cuts him right where it matters. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know a lot of the important details. But,” Mulder stops, swallowing hard and knowing this is a point of no return. Once he poses this suggestion, he can’t take it back. He can’t pretend he never asked, and neither can William. “You can come back with me, follow me back to the house. There are things that we know, things we can tell you, that might help you understand some of what’s happening to you.”

The invitation causes a flicker of light to pass through William’s eyes. For just a second, the facade he’s carefully crafted for the world to see begins to falter. “I can’t. Sorry, I need to go.”

Mulder stands in place, watching as William marches toward the registers. He wishes he could find the right words to say, the right things to do, to fix all of this. Pushing the cart faster, he manages to sidle into line just before William does, trying his best to remain calm as he places his items on the conveyor belt, watching as William follows suit. His son is buying bread, cans of fruit, chips, a few cans of soup, and even a few packages of instant noodles. Things he won’t have to cook, or if he does, can easily find a microwave or hot water somewhere to assist in doing so. Mulder points to the items on the rack. “Peanuts?” he asks, waving a bag in William’s direction.

William shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m allergic.”

“Oh,” Mulder says, getting more emotional about the fact William can’t eat something than he probably should, tucking it away to tell Scully later. Their son is allergic to peanuts. “Sunflower seeds then?”

William eyes the red and white bag in his hand, unsure if it’s a peace offering or a trap, but nods anyhow. “Yeah. I like sunflower seeds.”

Outside, Mulder is slow about putting his bags into the trunk, his eyes darting back to the store every second or two, and it’s all he can do to breathe in and out until he sees William emerge. By coincidence, or maybe fate he thinks, their cars are parked next to each other. He watches as William fumbles with the keys, slowly unlocking the door before looking up at him. 

“Thanks,” William says, waving the bag of sunflower seeds in Mulder’s direction. “They’re a good road snack.”

If you only knew, Mulder thinks, and suddenly he’s desperate to keep William there, even if only for a few more fleeting moments. “The invitation still stands. You could see her,” he says, not missing the glimmer of recognition on his son’s face. He wishes not for the first time since he saw William that it could actually be him, rather than the face of a man he doesn’t know. 

A family walks by, a mother and a father holding the hands of a girl probably not older than five, all three of them singing some silly song, oblivious to the dangers of the world that lurk around them. When William looks back at Mulder, his eyes are filled with tears. “Is she okay?”

“She’s got a cold right now, but nothing a little medication and rest can’t fix,” Mulder replies. A bag grows heavy in his hand, digging into his fingers, and he carefully sets it into the trunk without breaking William’s gaze. “You could find out for yourself, if you wanted.”

He opens his mouth, and Mulder almost lets himself believe he’ll say yes, but when William shakes his head, he feels a subtle thud of defeat inside. “My parents...they died, because of me. Because of what I can do. The only girls who ever looked at me twice were both hurt and are probably scarred for life because of me. It’s like I’m poison to everyone and everything that I touch.”

“William...Jackson…” Mulder pauses, knowing by saying his son’s name he’s already on shaky ground. Knowing the smallest misstep could completely sever ties and make him run for good. “I don’t know what name to call you. But what I do know is this: what you just said, that last part? I promise you, it’s not true. If you come with me, I promise we can help you.”

“How can you be sure you know what’s good for me? What if I don’t want to play a part in whatever it is that’s about to happen?” William asks, looking up at the clouds stirring overhead. 

Neither do we, Mulder thinks, just as sirens from a cop car racing by cuts through the silence of the parking lot. The officer was likely on his way to catch a suspect or investigate a case, but when he looks back at William, Mulder knows he’s been spooked. 

“This was nice, I guess. But I need to leave,” William says, stuffing the last of his bags into his car. 

“Wait,” Mulder says, desperate as he reaches into one of the bags, pulling out the receipt and running to the driver’s side of the car, reaching over into the glove box for a pen. He hastily jots something on the back of the paper before walking to the passenger side where William stands, waiting expectantly. 

“You want me to have your receipt?” William asks, not getting it at first, until he turns it over and spots an address scrawled on the back.

Mulder spots the recognition in his eyes, but he sees the fear, too. Like a dog that’s trapped in a corner with no idea of where to go or how he’s going to get out. “I’m not saying now, or ever if you don’t want. And I know you still miss your parents, so I don’t want you to think that we’re--” he pauses, getting choked up as his throat grows tight. He glances quickly into William’s back seat and sees the blankets sitting next to a basket full of folded clothes, sitting in plain sight. “I want you to know that you have a place you can go. We can keep you safe. Tell you things you need to know. Protect you,” he says, not missing the tiniest of quivers in the other man’s bottom lip. Protect you like we should have before, he mentally adds to himself, but when William speaks again he wonders if somehow he heard him.

“You did what you had to do,” he mutters, staring at the ground. He looks up when Mulder doesn’t respond, following his gaze into the back seat. “I’m okay. I’m being safe. Hiding in plain sight isn’t exactly easy, but I make it work.”

Mulder considers fishing out his wallet and handing him money, but without asking, he knows William wouldn’t take it. “Are you working?”

“Day labor. Constructions sites mostly. It’s not easy, but it pays okay and they don't ask questions. Like I said, I make it work,” he replies, watching as another police car races by, this time followed by an ambulance. 

“Must be an accident,” Mulder says, waiting for William to push the conversation one way or another. There's so much more he wants to tell him, but this isn't the place.

“Everything happens for a reason,” William replies. He carefully folds the receipt and slips it into his pocket, having no idea how much his father appreciates such a small victory. At least he didn’t throw it away. “Not today, not yet. I wish I could explain, but I--”

“I get it,” Mulder says, knowing it’s a lie, and tries his best not to sound disappointed. His hands itch, aching to reach out and touch him, to shake him or do something to convince him to stay. To passersby, they look like two middle aged men, friends maybe, who happen to be having a casual conversation in the parking lot of a grocery store. Nothing potentially earth shaking to see here, folks, Mulder thinks to himself chuckling inside at his own private joke. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am,” William replies. He opens the driver’s side door of his car wider and starts to get inside, signaling the conversation is about to draw to a close. “You seem okay. I’m glad she has you.”

Mulder stands, numb against the wind rubbing his skin raw, and watches as his son buckles himself in and starts the car, pulling away. He thinks about the people who taught William to drives and wishes it could’ve been him. And Scully, he adds, thinking of their son’s last words to him. She does have him, although as he watches William’s taillights fade off into the distance, he finds himself wishing she had more. Wishing they both did. He climbs into the car, knowing the ice cream is probably melted by now, but not caring at all about the food. She’ll forgive him, he thinks, when he tells her what transpired.

He points the car toward home, fully aware that looking in the rearview mirror won’t make William’s car appear any faster, if it all. He’d told him not yet, which leaves the door open. Such possibilities are dangerous, that much Mulder knows, but a prickle of hope blossoms in his chest. Not yet, but someday soon. William had said he sensed something was happening, and as Mulder presses his foot against the gas pedal, he can’t help believing that they’ll face whatever happens together.


End file.
